


A Very Merry FUBAR Christmas

by RageSeptember



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Almost Crack But Not Quite, Asexual Sherlock, Christmas Is All Around Me, Fluff, Jim Schemes, M/M, Minor Violence, Sherlock pouts, Why John And Seb Put Up With Either Of Them Nobody Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RageSeptember/pseuds/RageSeptember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim decides that he wants to spend the holidays with his three boyfriends. John is skeptical - rightly so, as it turns out. Strange gifts, petty fights and complicated relationships - can you hear me say ho, ho, ho?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Merry FUBAR Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> So, bascially I just love to put characters together and see what happens...

”I’m taller.”

”Sebastian can fetch me a chair.”

“Sebastian is busy preparing the turkey.” 

“ _You_ can fetch me a chair, then.” Jim gave Sherlock a pointed look. “You didn’t even want a tree in the first place.” 

The detective waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Well, now that it’s here and cluttering up _my_ sitting room, it might as well be decorated properly.” 

“Are you suggesting I don’t know how to decorate a tree, darling?” 

“All right, that’s enough.” John, having watched the exchange from the kitchen, grabbed a chair and carried it into the sitting room. On his way past the two consultants he snatched the glittering star out of Jim’s hand, ignoring the man’s squeal of protest. “There,” he said as he climbed the chair and fastened the star in the treetop. “That’s that sorted. Can we have some peace and quiet now? Christmas spirit and all that?” 

Sherlock and Jim watched him with crossed arms and equally dark looks, while in the kitchen Sebastian chuckled. 

\--- 

It had been Jim’s idea. Of course it had been; Sherlock couldn’t care less about Christmas, Sebastian was almost as indifferent, and to John the holiday was one for quiet celebration and rest – _not_ an ideal time to spend with the two hardened criminals (one of which was clinically insane) who happened to be his lovers.

But Jim got his way. Of course he did; arguing with the man was difficult enough that John had learned to reserve his efforts for only the truly important issues (like not killing innocents or trying to seduce Sherlock to a life of crime). However, he had made one feeble attempt at talking some sense into Sebastian, who – for all he was a cold-blooded mercenary – usually was as keen as the army doctor to keep Jim from the worst of his excesses. But this time the sniper had merely shrugged: “What’s the harm? We’ll get a tree and watch him and Sherlock fight over who gets to put the star on top, I’ll make us dinner and we can all be surprised over the shockingly thoughtful and lavish presents Jim gets us.” 

John had raised one eyebrow at that: “This is something you usually do then? Celebrate Christmas?” 

Sebastian snorted. “No. Doesn’t take a demented genius to figure out how it will go down, though.” 

\--- 

“We’ll have to get them gifts.”

Sherlock did not look up from his computer screen. “What for?”

Although the answer came as no surprise, John still couldn’t stifle a surge of annoyance. Sherlock wasn’t stupid, wasn’t _really_ clueless; he just hated to admit that he was a human being living in a human world, just like everyone else. 

“Because we’re spending Christmas with them.” Off Sherlock’s snort, John added: “They are our lovers.” 

Sherlock made a face, and John amended: “We’re in a relationship with them. It’s what you do, okay? What normal people in normal relationships do.” Although God knew that normal didn’t apply to them on any level… 

“Obligatory exchange of gifts. We might as well just hand each other a hundred quid each and call it a day. That would make as much sense.” 

John sighed. “You don’t have to get me anything, all right? And I don’t think Seb cares either way. But find something for Jim, yeah?” 

“Jim is too clever to care about _presents_.” 

“Jim’s not too clever to care about you,” John muttered as he turned to walk away, giving up for the time being. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing. Just… Nothing.” 

\---

“Pants.” Jim’s lips twitched, almost like he was trying not to laugh. “That’s very thoughtful of you, honey.” 

They were seated in the sitting room where the glitter-covered tree glittered merrily, the star sitting proudly at its top. Under it was small but nonetheless pile of presents stacked, and Jim had just opened the first. He, like everyone else was wearing a pair of reindeer antlers, because he had promised to blow up Webminister Abbey if they didn’t.

“Everybody needs pants,” Sherlock argued. “Particularly the three of you, who seem to have such trouble keeping them on.” He paused. “It’s the same brand you wore when we first met,” he pointed out, obviously worried that anyone might have missed this ingenious personal touch.

“Oh, aren’t you a clever boy.” Jim _was_ grinning now. “Would you like me to be gay Jim from IT for you again, darling? All you have to do is ask.” 

He had effortlessly slipped into his slightly breathless London accent, and his face had lost all traces of cunning or glee for a shy sort of eagerness to please. Sherlock scowled; John and Sebastian rolled their eyes and then smiled at each other in quiet understanding. Geniuses. Who’d have them? 

“Socks for me,” Sebastian declared. “What about you, John?” 

“A… set of measuring cups. Uhm, thanks, Sherlock.” 

“I melted our last set. And since you’re practically my common law husband we own everything together, so if I need a set of measuring cups you do as well.”

John set the measuring cups aside on the coffee table. “That… makes no sense.”

“Neither does this entire holiday. Move on, shall we?” 

“Yes, let’s,” Jim agreed. “Now, for some real presents – “

Just as Sebastian had predicted, the gifts from the consulting criminal was as lavish as they were considered; for Sebastian a rifle that (judging by the sniper’s reaction) was very impressive indeed, for Sherlock a violin that (judging by the detective’s reaction) was quite a rare prize, and for John tickets to the premiere of new James Bond movie and a new suit that (judging by the consulting criminal’s pleased smirk) was extremely stylish and expensive.

John’s and Sebastian’s gifts were far more modest, but still received well by Jim who thanked them with kisses and all sorts of over-the-top compliments. Sherlock accepted his gifts grudgingly, but managed to insult neither of them more than twice. _So far, so good_ , John thought as they rose to head for the kitchen and the dinner Sebastian had prepare over the course of the last three days. Maybe this wouldn’t be such an utter disaster after all.

\--- 

John leaned back in his chair with a small sigh, feeing full to the bursting point and oddly content. Really, this wasn’t so bad. The food was delicious, Jim and Sherlock had been surprisingly civil (the only thing worse than the two men being at each other’s throats was them uniting against John, Sebastian or the world at large; when that happened, the earth itself did tremble), and John was here with the three people that, for all their faults, mattered most to him. As far as Christmases went this one had turned out pretty damned well -

The doorbell rang.

John frowned, getting up from the table (knowing full well that neither Sherlock nor Jim would even consider getting the door themselves, and Mrs. Hudson had left to visit her sister). “A client at this time?” he muttered, although there wasn’t actually any reason for him to be surprised; if evil never slept, it made sense that neither would the victims of evil.

But the opened front door revealed no distraught young woman or flushed gentleman and instead John found himself face to face with Molly, Greg, Mycroft, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. 

The sound of light footsteps on the stairs was followed by a cold hand on John’s shoulder and Jim’s sadistically cheerful voice: “Oh, did I forget to say? I invited some people over for Christmas drinks.” 

\--- 

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.” Sherlock was pouting at the window, arms crossed and his back turned towards the room and the rest of its inhabitants. 

“To be fair, we had no idea that what we were agreeing to was Christmas drinks with your… _friends_ ,” Mycroft said, the distaste obvious in his measured tone. “We were given to understand that invitations came from you and John only.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why you are _here_.” 

By the fireplace, Jim snickered. The little pricked looked utterly delighted and supremely pleased with himself, John noted. Even for Jim, this was an odd sort of joke, bringing together a bunch of people who absolutely did not like him or approve of his relationship to Sherlock, just to watch the fallout… He should have known that things had been too going too well to be true.

Sebastian, bless him, was making easy small-talk with Sherlock’s parents. Upon the unexpected arrival of Sherlock’s friends and family, the sniper had quickly brought out another bottle of wine and poured it while greeting everyone with pleasant smiles (admittedly the one offered Mycroft resemble more the chilly promise of imminent death than a friendly welcome). 

”So. Nice holidays?” John turned to Molly and Greg, both of them looking equally uncomfortable. Damn Jim for dragging these two into this; Mycroft could handle it and the older Holmses were more or less oblivious (or at least preferred to pretend so), but Greg and Molly really deserved better than to be made pawns (again!) in Jim Moriarty’s devilish schemes.

“Yes, it’s been lovely,” Molly offered. “I went to see my mother in Essex. I brought Toby, too.” 

Greg turned to her: “New boyfriend?” 

“Uh, no.” Molly blushed. “My cat.” 

“He’s an absolute _darling_ ,” Jim supplied, joining the group. “Very kind to strangers. Like mistress like dog, eh?” He offered Molly a smile as charming as it was cruel, and John considered whether it would be antithetical of Christmas spirit to punch him. Probably, he concluded with some regret.

“Surprised to see you here,” Greg said brusquely. “No children to kidnap? No little old ladies to blow up?” 

John winced; damn it, but did Greg have to bring up the very thing that John did his hardest not to think about when he was with the consulting criminal? Probably; Greg might be willing to bend the law when he thought it appropriate, but he was dedicated to what was Right, and Jim Moriarty was to Right as was toothpaste to soda. 

“I’m walking the straight and narrow now,” Jim drawled, clapping his hand on John’s shoulder. “Johnny here wouldn’t have it any other way.” ‘Straight and narrow’ was so far beyond an exaggeration that John could not even begin to address it, but it was true that Jim’s criminal enterprises these days were more considerate of any collateral damage. 

“Greg – “ John began, but the Detective Inspector cut him off: 

“So that only leaves you with hundreds of already committed crimes to answer for then.” 

Jim’s smile became that of a viper, a cat, a malicious genius intent on demonstrating his power. “And how do you imagine _you’ll_ make _me_ answer for _anything_ , Inspector?” 

“Listen here, you – “ 

“I believe Mr. Moriarty has an entirely overblown sense of his own importance,” Mycroft interjected, and John became aware that the whole room was listening in on the increasingly heated exchange. “And of his own invulnerability.” 

Jim made one of his patented comically exaggerated faces. “Well, if that’s true, how pathetic does it make you that you haven’t been able to stop me yet? Does it rankle, Ice Man? That I am here and there is nothing you can do about it?” 

“Oh, I assure you, there is plenty I can ‘do about it’ if I so choose.” Judging by the tone of his voice, ice wouldn’t melt on Mycroft’s tongue; Jim’s nick name really was fairly appropriate, John thought.

“Nooo, it really isn’t.” Sherlock had turned form his window and was staring straight at his older brother. “Don’t threaten my boyfriend’s lovers, Mycroft, it won’t end well for you. And now I think it’s time for everybody to go home and do whatever it is boring people do on Christmas. Bye-bye.” 

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes scolded, but the detective gave her a blank stare (undoubtedly practiced under many similar occasions over the years). 

“I think that maybe we ought to call it a night,” John said awkwardly, offering an apologetic shrug to Molly and Greg. “I’ll talk to you in a few days? We can have drinks, with Mike? Just… us.” 

“That’d be nice.” Molly smiled faintly and shot Jim a murderous look (really, he should know better than to underestimate her, John mused) before allowing Greg to help her put her coat on. 

On his way out, Mycroft paused in front of John. “You should be careful, John,” he said, completely ignoring Jim. “I know Sherlock isn’t quite bright enough not to play with fire, but you – “

“Am probably going to be seriously pissed off if you finish that sentence,” John said levelly. He might have moments of uncertainty and concern over his relationship with the two criminals; that didn’t mean that Mycroft Holmes got to have opinions on it. “Good bye, Mycroft. Merry Christmas.” 

“And a happy new year,” Jim chirped in, beaming. 

\--- 

“Well, wasn’t that fun?” Jim stretched, looking quite a lot like a content cat. He’d got the superior smugness down-pat, John thought. Off the other’s cold stares, Jim added with wide-eyed innocence: “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me that wasn’t fun.” His grin revealed all of his teeth, sharp and gleaming. 

“Boss, a moment.” Sebastian’s voice was completely neutral.

Jim gave him a suspicious look. “All these frivolities have left me absolutely exhausted. I think it’s time to retire – “

“This won’t take long.” The sniper’s tone remained calm, dispassionate – but there was a hint of steel in his gray eyes. 

John watched in quiet awe as Jim Moriarty made a face, then walked past the sniper into Sherlock’s bedroom. Most of the time the seven foot sniper was seemingly more than happy to follow Jim’s orders and give in to his every whim, but every now and then the man bit back and for whatever reason that seemed to give Jim pause when nothing else could. What John wouldn’t give to have similar power of Jim (or Sherlock, for that matter)…

“Why can’t they take their spat home? Now I can’t go to sleep until they’re done,” Sherlock complained, ignoring a, that he never cared much for sleep, and b, that John and he shared a bed almost every night, spending as much time in doctor’s room as they did in the detective’s. 

“I’ll make us some eggnog, shall I? God knows I need a drink… “ 

Sherlock snorted, but offered no protest – John figured that was as close to eager approval as the man was ever going to give. 

\--- 

“That was ridiculous.” Sebastian had paused just inside the closed bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest. 

Jim had moved further into the room; but not _much_ further. Backing away from a confrontation wasn’t really Jim’s style. Now he rounded on the sniper, dark eyes made darker still by a rising temper. “Very, very few people get away with calling me ridiculous, Moran,” he said, and while he sounded completely unconcerned, Sebastian knew the other well enough to recognize Jim’s Very Dangerous Tone. 

Unfortunately, backing away from a confrontation wasn’t Sebastian’s style either. 

“I didn’t say _you_ were ridiculous,” the sniper noted drily. “But okay, yeah, you were. And don’t bother looking at me like that, I know what you were doing, and it’s not on, yeah? It upsets John and Sherlock – “ He broke off, making a face. “All right, it doesn’t _upset_ Sherlock, but it annoys him, and he’s about as pleasant to be around when he’s annoyed as you are.”

“You are starting to bore me, Sebastian – “ 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake - !” Sebastian closed the space between them in two long strides and slammed Jim against the wall. 

The shorter man grimaced as his back hit the hard panel with a dull thud, but then grinned widely and licked his lips. “Oh, Tiger. If all you wanted was to play rough – “ 

“Shut up.” Sebastian’s grip on the other’s tie tightened. “Just shut the fuck up and listen. I might not be a bloody genius, but I _know_ you, and I know _exactly_ what you were doing out there. Forcing a confrontation to see if John and Sherlock would stand up for you? Fucking hell, Jim! Heaven forbid you’d ever let that fucking mask slip long enough to let them know you care, to you arrange this bloody charade instead. It’s ridiculous. It’s hurtful.” He straightened, letting go of the other man. “You won’t do it again.” 

Jim stared at him, reaching up to right his tie without speaking. His expression was caught between a pout and fury, as was he unsure of on which emotion to settle. 

“And you will apologize,” Sebastian added.

No confused emotions now; Jim’s eyes first widened with disbelief and then the little bastard actually grinned. “Oh, Sebastian. What and adorable little man you are.”

“No. None of that crap. You will apologize.” 

Jim was undoubtedly about to scoff at him again, but something in the sniper’s face apparently made him think again. It didn’t happen often, but there were times when Sebastian simply would not budge.

“I don’t do apologies, Sebastian.” There were also, a lot more often, times when Jim would not budge. 

“Then find a non-verbal way to make it up to them.”

Now Jim did scoff. “All right, then. If you’re determined to be difficult about this.” He moved to walk past Sebastian, but paused just next to the sniper to whisper in his ear: “And when we get home, I will take a long, long time in teaching you how unwise it is to push me. I wouldn’t count on being able to walk straight again until Easter.”

 _Ah, well_ , thought Sebastian philosophically, although the threat did send a shiver down his spine. _Give some to get some, yeah?_

\---

John fell back against the pillows with a long sigh, feeling utterly sated and a little bemused. Although Jim was never anything but a skilled lover, no one would ever accuse him of being a generous one, and so the slow, almost gentle foreplay followed by a frankly fantastic blowjob was unusual to say the least. 

“Are you feeling all right?” John asked. 

“Mmm, brilliant,” Jim purred in reply, cuddling close and wrapping his arms around the army doctor. Another unusual thing; John always preferred to cuddle after sex – Jim normally didn’t. “You taste fantastic, Johnny boy. Now be a good little soldier and go to sleep. Dream of Daddy.”

That actually didn’t sound like a half-bad idea… As he began to drift off, John could feel the bed dip as Sebastian settled on his other side, one strong arm snaking over his waist.

“That wasn’t so fucking hard, was it? What about Sherlock?” John thought he heard the man say, and then Jim answering something about having arranged a particularly exciting puzzle for him.

“Ah,” Sebastian chuckled. “So that’s why he won’t come to bed then?”

What was that all about? No matter; it could wait until morning. John fell asleep with a small smile on his face, wrapped in the arms of Sebastian and Jim. Maybe this really hadn’t been such a bad way of spending Christmas, after all.

 


End file.
